


Kintsugi Elseworld

by a_stands_for



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anti-Hero Joker, Artistic Liberty Tarot, Bruce being a total dick, Dimension Travel, Fix-It, Fortune Telling, Gang warfare, M/M, Not Lego Batjokes but not as dark as Comics Batjokes often gets, Private Detective Riddler, Set sometime after The Killing Joke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-09 18:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10418412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_stands_for/pseuds/a_stands_for
Summary: A suspiciously insistent Zatanna reads Bruce's fortune, which somehow leads to an adventure in a parallel universe--one where the Joker wears a mask and cape and fights at Batman's side.Or at least, that's what heclaims.Even the Batman of this dimension has his doubts, so its up to Bruce to find out what the slippery snake of a clown is scheming in that twisted mind of his--and why Zatannareallybrought him here.





	1. Humpty Dumpty

Zatanna smiled at him serenely from the seat of Batman's control center, one fishnet-clad leg crossed confidently across the other. “Bruce! It's been ages. I was in the neighborhood, so I though I'd drop by. Let's catch up.”

Bruce eyed her as he removed his cowl, placing it down on a table covered with bat-accessories in development. “It hasn't been _that_ long,” he said cautiously. “What do you want?”

“What makes you think I want something?”

“Do you?”

Her smile dropped with a sigh. “I want to do something for _you_ , Bruce.”

He watched her with serious eyes as he tugged off his gloves, finger by finger. “You know I already forgave you, Zee.” Admittedly it had taken him a while, but the memory-erasing incident was finally behind them.

Or at least, it was for him. Zatanna's eyes lowered for a moment, a shimmer of regret darting by before she peered back up at him, her gaze piercing despite the supposed demureness of peering through one's eyelashes. “Let me ask you: are you happy, Bruce?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“It's a _normal_ question. Are. You. Happy? With your life as it is now. Devoted utterly to being the Bat, working with your ragtag family of adopted children and your network of allies, but always, _always_ , somehow still alone?”

Bruce's brow had wrinkled more and more as she spoke. By the time she finished, he was the picture of defensive bafflement. “Is this about the time we discussed the possibility of  _us?_ ”

She gave him a  _look_ with half-closed eyes, the kind that said  _don't be idiot._ “No. It is most definitely not.”

“Then get to the point. What exactly is it you're offering?”

“I want to tell your fortune.”

At this his eyebrows climbed up as high as they could go, almost brushing the dark locks of sweaty hair that drooped over his forehead. “My... fortune.”

“Yes.”

“My _love_ fortune?”

“Your _happiness_ fortune. Whatever form that takes.”

He finished unhooking his cape and draped it over the table as well, turning to walk slowly towards her like she was an intriguing mystery that had presented itself. “What brought this on so suddenly?” His eyes narrowed. “Did you try to tell it already, for your own curiosity?”

There was a moment's hesitation, and then she smiled and raised her hands in confession. “You caught me. Obviously I can't give a truly accurate fortune without your permission, but what I gleaned on my own was... puzzling. I wanted to try again for a clearer result.”

“So really this is for your own satisfaction,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“No,” she said softly, steepling her fingers and watching him as he paced from one side to the other. “This is _definitely_ for the sake of Bruce Wayne.”

“Fine, whatever. If it will put your mind at ease, I'll let you work your magic. Go on up to the east sitting room, I'll join you after I get cleaned up.”

She smiled and rose to her feet, spinning and bowing with a flourish before vanishing into thin air. Bruce couldn't resist the urge to roll his eyes again as he heard the elevator lurch into action a moment later. In his opinion, needless theatrics were for criminals, not friends, but to each their own.

* * *

“Which deck would you prefer?” Zatanna asked as the lights dimmed around them, countless cards beginning to dance and twirl through the air like a flock of birds. Bruce watched them blandly as he sipped a cup of tea. “Rider-Waite? Crowley-Thoth? Or perhaps a novelty deck? Alice in Wonderland? Gothic? I've got a Justice League themed one, it's quite amusing...”

“Let's not do that one.”

She chuckled. “I'll spare you and just stick with the classics, then.” A multitude of cards vanished while the rest fluttered down into a stack upon the small table where they were seated. “Care to mix the cards?”

He placed his cup down on the table with a clink and reached for the deck, letting them fall into a messy pile that he stirred around a few times before pulling them back together and shuffling with expert hands.

“Now cut the deck, and as you do, think of a question you want answered.”

“Do I really need to do this?” he asked as he complied.

Zatanna made an exasperated sound and Bruce grinned. She shook her head as he pushed the deck back towards her, but couldn't hold back an amused twitch to her lips. “Fine, I can work with that.” She drew a card off the top and placed it before them. “Yes.”

“You didn't even look at it.”

She glanced down at it, then looked back up. “It means yes.”

“I don't think it really means that.”

“When _I_ read a card, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.”

Bruce blinked, then sat back and crossed his arms. “Humpty Dumpty?”

Zatanna smiled. “Oh, you're quite familiar with Lewis Carroll, then.”

“It's hard not to be with people like the Mad Hatter around.”

“Point. But it's true; Humpty Dumpty does have some relevance to reading the tarot. Sometimes one must set aside the theoretical meanings behind the cards and use intuition to glean a more relevant interpretation.”

“Sounds extremely subjective.”

“It is. That's the point.”

“Look, just--” He raised hands as if in surrender, running them briefly through his hair before leaning against the table on his elbows. “Ask the questions you so obviously want me to ask. I don't have any of my own.”

The look she gave him was sad, with a touch of pity. “Very well.” With a graceful sweep of her hand, the cards spread themselves in a neat fan across the table, directly in front of Bruce. “The first card you draw will determine the nature of this session. Pick one that calls out to you.”

He eyed the row of sleek, identical patterns, and pushed one out at random. Zatanna turned it over and smiled smugly as it revealed itself. “Well, then. I was being honest when I said I merely wished to foretell your happiness, but perhaps a love fortune is what you truly desire?” She moved her hand away and Bruce peered down at the image of a man and woman, naked as the day they were born, standing beneath an angel. _Lovers_ , the caption said.

“I really don't,” he said with a touch of irritation. “What else can it mean?”

She cocked her head, looking between the card and the man. “It could refer to someone with whom you share a very strong bond. Perhaps there is a sexual desire there, but perhaps not. Or perhaps it refers to a choice you will have to make, one with repercussions on a grand scale. Or it could mean that you are about to find yourself at a moral crossroads, facing a definite right and wrong path. I think...” she trailed off, tugging at her lower lip in concentration, “I think I'm going to give you a twist on the usual 'past-present-future' spread.”

“How so?”

“I'm going to read for a hypothetical _other_ as well, and for how you two relate.”

He shrugged. “You're the expert. Just tell me what to do.”

“Draw three cards.”

He did as she asked, one by one, watching with a neutral expression as she placed them carefully beside each other, below the Lovers. Fingers trailing over the left card in anticipation, she stared back at him as she turned it over, not looking until he'd had a chance to see and react.

“The Emperor, but reversed. This is your past, and the root of your unhappiness.”

“I've always thought of myself as more of a knight, actually,” he said, trying to inject some humor.

“You have been excessively controlling, of yourself and others. Rigid and inflexible, you wield your authority like a hammer. Your relationships always fail, because they are unequal in your favor.”

“Ouch,” he muttered.

She turned over the card on the right, ignoring his remarks. Her eyes seemed to have gained a slight glaze. “The King of Cups, reversed. This is the past of someone else in your life. This person has been toxic, moody, and manipulative. Their relationships always fail because they don't understand their own emotions, which run wild and out of control.”

“That _barely_ narrows things down.”

“And in the middle, representing the intersection of the two, we have the Four of Cups, reversed. ...Oh.”

“What does that mean?”

“Stagnation. And... an opportunity, lost.”

Bruce took a deep breath, then let it all out. “Okay. So what now? The present?”

“That's right. Draw another three cards.” She placed them neatly below the previous three, and this time, drew from the right side first. “Eight of Cups. This represents how the Other feels now.”

“Which is?”

“Disappointment. They have achieved much that they thought they desired, and found it hollow and unsatisfying. They may be considering abandoning all they have obtained so far.”

He frowned, unable to stop himself from holding the thought up to various people he knew, as if trying to judge it for fit. Selina, perhaps? As he pondered, Zatanna turned over the left card.

“The Hermit, reversed. Your present self. Absorbed in your own problems to the point of isolating yourself from your friends and family. The more they try to strengthen their relationship with you, the more you withdraw. Always, ever, alone.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “And where we meet?”

She turned the middle card, and Bruce knew what it was without needing to read its name. It featured the same couple from the Lovers card, but loosely chained below a looming monster. “The Devil. Obsession. Addiction. It is your harmful impulses that currently bind you and the Other together. And though either one of you could throw off your chains if you tried... you don't.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment before he could give her a sour look. “So far this fortune isn't bringing me much happiness.”

“Hope lies in the future. Draw three cards.”

Grasping on to his thinning patience, he obeyed. Once again, she placed them below the previous set, this time turning over the middle card first. “The Two of Cups for the two of you.” She brightened considerably. “A union of opposites. Duality and harmony. A deeply fulfilling partnership. Possibly even attraction and love.” She gave him a relieved smile. “How's that for hope and happiness?”

“It's certainly an improvement.”

She turned over the left card. “The Star. A future where you have taken revenge and bitterness and burned them away, leaving the chance for renewal and reinvention in their stead. Perhaps for both of you? A serenity you have never before known. Inspiration found. _Hope_.”

“And the Other?” he asked, caught up just the tiniest bit in her excitement despite himself.

“The Knight of Cups. Romantic, adventurous, exhilarating. Wise in the manner that dreams are wise. A knight in shining armor, or alternatively, that could be what they think of you. Still ruled by emotions and intuition, but now drawing on experiences of warmth and love that they wish to share.”

Bruce stared at Zatanna. She stared back, waiting.

“So.”

“So?”

“That's supposed to be my future?”

“That's a _possible_ future. It's a considerable change from your present, I know, but you drew nothing but cards from a single suit and the Major Arcana. A very focused, powerful reading.”

“Oh,” he said, finally settling back into more comfortable territory. “So it still might not happen.”

“Not without effort on your part, no.”

“What kind of effort?”

“If you _truly_ wish to know, then draw three cards.”

He huffed softly, but tried to take the implied warning seriously. He didn't believe in fate, but he did believe that people's choices set them down certain paths. If he drew more cards, then he would already be taking a step in that direction. Did he _really_ want to chase down this fantasy that had suddenly presented itself before him?  Wasn't he happy the way he was?

Well, no, that didn't feel like the right word. _Comfortable_ , that was it. He was accustomed to the consequences of his choices so far. They fit perfectly fine. There was no need to upheave his whole world just for the vague potential that things could be somehow “better.” How good could better possibly be, anyway?

He found himself glaring at the Two of Cups, at the two figures there, equal in dignity, passing the cups to each other in some sort of ceremony. Partners. Batman had plenty of partners. Superheroes from other cities, his apprentices, his Gotham network of eyes and ears... actually, none of those felt like partnerships. Alliances, maybe. Family, for some. Nothing quite like a “deeply fulfilling union,” or whatever Zatanna had said. What would something like that even be like? He didn't know.

All he knew was, somewhere deep within him where it was constantly stamped down every time it dared to rear its ugly head, there existed a desperate craving for someone who could meet an impossible list of standards. Someone who could match him step for step but without being underfoot. Who was strong in the areas he was weak, and needed help in the areas where he excelled. Someone who wasn't a saint, who knew darkness like he did, but could be trusted not to fall to crime, either. Someone absolutely loyal, yet independent enough to challenge him.

Someone who would stay, because there was nowhere else they would rather be.

Bruce blinked. There were three cards in his hands. He didn't even remember grabbing them. It looked like they had been right next to each other in the fan of cards, meaning he probably pulled all three at the same time. He couldn't help glancing at them as he handed them over, either. “They're not Cups any more,” he couldn't resist pointing out.

“A good thing, perhaps. It suggests breaking free from a pattern.”

“Also, I hope it wasn't important that I draw them one by one.”

She considered his words as she examined the cards in her hands, not laying them down yet. “It's not that it's not important. It's that the fact that you drew these together is important. It could mean that they're meant to be read together.” She placed them on the table, fanned out enough to read but still touching. “Eight of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, and Knight of Wands. Action and travel, cycles and turning points, passion and adventure.”

They both stared at the pictures on the cards, trying to interpret them. A bunch of wands flying through the air and a knight on horseback, all converging together on a vibrant, mystic circle. The silence stretched longer and longer.

“It--” Bruce began, then stopped.

“What?” Zatanna asked, looking up.

“Nothing. It was silly. You're the magician, you read it.”

“Intuition is important. And tarot reading grows more accurate when it has the participation of all who are involved. What was your impression?”

“It kind of looks like... things traveling through a portal.”

Zatanna looked at him appraisingly. “You might make a fair magician, yourself,” she murmured, turning back to the cards. “Traveling to another reality where things are different would be the perfect way to discover what you lack now, and what needs to be done.”

“A mission.” He nodded, then gave a little smirk as he recalled her prior words and returned them. “I can work with that.”

She smiled. “Then let us close this reading the way it began. Draw a single card. It will determine the nature of your mission.”

He held a hand out over the cards, trying to feel if some kind of magical bullshit really did draw him to one in particular. As always, though, he felt nothing, and finally settled on one at random. He nudged it forward and Zatanna pulled it close to turn it over.

In the quiet, it was easy to hear her sharp inhale of breath. Surprised, he took in the wide-eyed look on her face, then peered down at the card to see what could have shocked her so.

It was a picture of Humpty Dumpty.

“Is that a card from your Alice deck?”

“How--?” she whispered, picking the card up and looking at the back again. It matched all the other cards. She peered closer, then pressed a long nail against the edges. Another card's edge appeared, and as she pulled, they peeled apart like they had been held together by something sticky. Now a backing that didn't match could be seen, and the face of the other card was revealed.

They were still the same card. The Tower. Zatanna seemed rather flummoxed. “Well. Um. The Tower suggests great upheaval and change. The goal of your mission is to find... revelation.”

“What does it mean that Humpty Dumpty snuck in?”

Her lips flattened. “I... don't know. The fact that we already brought up his name earlier suggests that there is great importance in it, but as for what it could be... making your own meaning? Seeking something that is broken? A warning that some things can't be fixed? Someone literally named Humpty Dumpty? I just can't say.”

“There's a Humphry Dumpler in Arkham. He took his grandmother apart and tried to sew her back together.”

“Do you think he's relevant?”

“I gotta be honest here: not even remotely.”

“Then let's just assume it is some kind of clue that will reveal itself in time.”

“Like a keyword to look for. Or a guide.”

Her eyes brightened. “ _Yes._ This would make a perfect focus to use for opening the portal! I can get started on divining our destination right away.”

“What, now?” he asked, suddenly feeling the night's exertions catching up with him.

“Well, I supposed I could wait until tomorrow. You need a chance to rest and get your affairs in order before your departure.

“This whim of yours to tell my fortune seems to have grown out of hand rather quickly.”

Her eyes narrowed, turning her smile cold. “Well, I suppose you could continue living in your rut for just one more day. And then another. And then another. And then an--”

“Okay, I get it. I'll make arrangements for others to look after the city and Wayne Enterprises for a while, and see you in the evening.”

Her smile warmed again, pleased, and they both took to their feet. Bruce couldn't help but wonder what had brought all this on so suddenly in the first place. Why was she was pushing so hard? Something fluttered to the floor as he accidentally disturbed the fan of cards, and he automatically leaned over to pick it back up. The _High Priestess_ , he read upside down.

“I don't suppose this means anything, too?” he asked half-jokingly as he handed it back to her.

There was a faint flicker of something in her eyes as she took it, but she merely shook her head and gave him an easy grin as she summoned the rest of the cards to join it in her hand.

“No. Not at all.”

* * *

Bruce adjusted the hang of his cape absent-mindedly as he waited for Zatanna to finish whatever strange meditation she was doing. He'd had a restless morning's sleep, his mind insisting on dwelling over what opportunities he'd missed in the past that could have led him to this point. It left him feeling irritated and unprepared for this new mission, even though he had his usual range of gadgets and tools clipped to his belt that ought to cover most situations.

Zatanna was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the Batcave, the Humpty Dumpty card floating between parted hands in the middle of a magical glow. “Interesting,” she finally said, breaking the silence.

“What.”

“If this card hadn't presented itself to us last night, I would have used probability magic to find the ideal alternate dimension for us to travel to. So out of curiosity, I did that anyway. The frequency of vibrations that I received as coordinates,” she explained as she climbed to her feet, “are a perfect match for the vibrations this card gives off when I set it as the portal key.”

“So in other words, we're definitely traveling to the right place.”

“Yes.”

“Well then. That's all I needed to hear. Let's get this mission started.”

Zatanna flashed him a grin and swept her hat from her head with an elaborate bow. “Then without further ado, I present to you tonight's performance: a journey into the Elseworlds! Intrigue! Mystery! Romance! Who knows what lies beyond these familiar confines? What titles will these two realms take when they touch? Let's find out, together!” Tucking the Tarot card into the band of her hat, she tossed it high into the air, the spinning brim seeming to grow larger and brighter, its satin interior disappearing into solid blackness. By the time it had floated back down to the ground, unnaturally slowly, it had grown to the size of a set of double doors.

“ _Nepo latrop!_ ” she ordered with a resonant voice, and suddenly the blackness burst into shimmering, swirling purple, taking on new depth as it expanded into a tunnel. Gesturing for Bruce to join her, they stepped forward together, breaching the tenuous layer between reality and hypertime. Purple nothingness surrounded them, and as he glanced back behind them, only a circle of blackness could be seen where the Batcave should have been.

“So what was that about titles?” he asked, mostly just to see if it was even possible to talk in this in-between place. “You mean like _Earth-0_ and so on?”

“Numbers are convenient in their simplicity, because they're relatively constant. No matter where you come from, the place you're going still has the same number. But any time two streams come into contact, they give each other unique names based on their differences from each other. So, a realm that has touched many others will have many names, all different. They can be quite fascinating.”

“What's the name that our world just took?”

She turned around, walking backwards as she waved a hand like she was tracing a banner. “ _Laever ruoy eman_ ,” she cast. Silver runes appeared, resolving themselves into letters that read _The Dark Knight_.

“Makes sense,” he said. She brushed the letters away and turned around, repeating the spell while facing forward before he could even ask.

More silver letters, this time spelling out  _The Golden King._

“Don't tell me the Batman of this world has delusions of grandeur,” he grumbled.

“How do you know it's even you? Are delusions of grandeur something you struggle with?” she asked with a faintly teasing voice.

Bruce pressed his lips together in exaggerated annoyance, and let himself smile a little when she laughed. In front of them, a patch of darkness grew more dense until it formed a large black circle, and without hesitation, Zatanna led them both through.

They found themselves immediately blinded by flashing lights and a warning klaxon. Bruce reacted before he even thought about it: “Computer, deactivate alarm!” A merciful silence swiftly filled the air as they were plunged back into darkness, at least until their eyes adjusted.

“I suppose you used magic to take care of my security system when you snuck in yesterday,” he accused as he turned to Zatanna, only to find her collapsed on the floor, barely holding her torso up with her arms.

“I would have done the same now if you hadn't beat me to it,” she wheezed, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the cavernous space. “As soon as I caught my breath... anyway.”

He frowned as he helped her to her feet, unable to ignore the way she trembled and leaned heavily on his arm. “Are you all right?”

She chuckled. “Crossing realities... was never meant to be  _easy._ I'll recover with a little rest.”

“I hope you're not too tired for an explanation,” came a familiar voice, and they both looked up to see an equally familiar silhouette outlined in the gloom. “I thought it odd that the alarm kicked on and off again so quickly, but I didn't expect to come across _myself_ when I checked it out.”

It was Batman. Definitely the usual Batman, no gold or crowns involved. Bruce straightened and gave his surroundings a quick glance for obvious differences, but found none. “I'm you, from a different reality. Zatanna brought me here on a mission.”

“I kind of figured it had to be something like that as soon as I saw you both. What is it you need?”

“Knowledge.”

Batman turned, inviting the two of them to follow him up a set of metal stairs to the control center. “What kind? My libraries and databanks are open for your perusal.”

“It's more of a...” He cleared his throat with a cough. “Journey of self-discovery. Sort of. Thing.”

Batman stopped in mid-step and glanced back for a moment before resuming his walk. “I see.” He opened his mouth several times as if to say something, only to change his mind each time. “Am I the good example or the bad example?” he finally asked.

“I guess we'll find out.”

Batman snorted. “Do you at least have some idea where to start?”

“Maybe,” Bruce admitted as he helped Zatanna ease into the computer chair. “Does the name Humpty Dumpty mean anything to you?”

He considered. “There's a Humphry Dumpler in Arkham.”

“Yeah, same where I'm from. I don't think that's it.”

“Then otherwise, no.”

They pondered in thoughtful silence. Zatanna folded her hands over her stomach and leaned back into the chair, her hat slipping down over her eyes as she got comfortable. “What about a Golden King?” she asked.

“Of course,” Batman said easily. “That's what J calls me.”

“Who's J?”

“Jack.” At the continued silence, Batman raised his head and stared. “Dragon?” Bruce shook his head. “Well then. I guess we've found where our realities parted ways.”

“Who's Dragon? A new sidekick?”

To Bruce's surprise, his counterpart laughed, smiling with fond amusement. “I wouldn't call him that, no. Especially not to his face.” He walked over to the communications panel and flipped a switch, while Zatanna pushed her hat up with a finger, just enough to exchange glances with Bruce.

_Is this the mysterious Other?_

“Dragon, do you copy?” he asked into the intercom.

“ _What?_ ” asked an irritated voice.

“Are you still nearby?”

“ _Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not._ ”

“Come back to base. There's someone here I think you'll find very... interesting.”

“ _Gee, well in_ that _case_ ,” Dragon said, voice dripping in sarcasm, “ _how could I refuse? I'll be there with bells on._ ”

Bruce shuddered, goosebumps prickling over his skin despite the warmth of the Batsuit. That voice... its theatrical cadence, the way it flew from high and playful to low and bitter... it  _couldn't_ be. He tried to shrug off the itching suspicion as audio distortion from the speaker.

He was tense as a spring when the distant sound of a motorbike reached his ears, growing louder quickly as it sped along the road into the Batcave. A bright headlight prevented him from seeing much until the vehicle turned sideways and came to a screeching stop. A white blur, almost glowing in the darkness, hopped off and ran briskly up the steps, only slowing when it reached the top and the pool of light where they were gathered. Suddenly cautious, the figure stepped slowly into the platform.

Spats. Deep purple dress pants. A striped waistcoat covering a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up. Bleach-white arms.

Mental alarms screaming, Bruce fell into a defensive stance before he could even think, a batarang in his hand and ready to fly. “Joker!”

The other Batman was already there, gripping Bruce's wrist before the weapon could be released. The Joker finished stepping into the light, revealing white armor on his shoulders that seemed to serve no purpose other than to support a long, white cape shaped like dragon wings. Covering his face, more fitting for a masquerade than for protection, was a spiked dragon mask with gold teeth bared in an acid-dripping grin. A hand clad in purple leather reached up and twisted the mask to the side, exposing poison-green hair, skeletal cheekbones and a red-lipped grin, so grotesque that they circled around and became beautiful again.

“You're right,” the Joker said as he stared with half-lidded eyes, almost glowing from within their sunken sockets. “This ought to be _quite_ entertaining!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sketchy concept art of the Dragon](http://a-stands-for.tumblr.com/post/158751158509)


	2. Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To prevent confusion, Original Flavor Batman will always be referred to as Bruce, and Elseworld Batman will be referred to as Batman, even though they're both suited up.

“Why is _he_ here?” Bruce growled quietly, not taking his eyes off the Joker for a moment.

“Because he belongs here,” the other Batman said matter-of-factly, releasing the wrist he held captive so that Bruce could put the batarang away. “He's my partner.”

“ _Partner?!_ ” he hissed in disbelief, feeling the blood drain from his face. No. Absolutely not. That mystery Other that the Tarot reading spoke of was _not_ the Joker. He refused to accept that! “In _what_ , crime?!”

Joker promptly started laughing like he'd said the funniest thing in the world, giggles rolling off the cave walls and bouncing back all around them. Bruce spared him one sour glare before turning back to his counterpart, only to blanch further at the look on Batman's face. He was looking at the Joker with a sort of relieved, affectionate smile. It was _disturbing_.

“Of course not,” Batman replied after the echoing laughter had died down to a quiet chuckle. “Fighting crime is my life. _Your_ life too, I assume. But now J assists me in his own... _unique_ way.”

“By slitting throats, I assume,” Bruce muttered, softly enough that only Batman could hear and earning himself a glare of his own. He returned it, and the two of them tried to out-glare each other for a moment that stretched longer and longer as the seconds ticked by, both too stubborn to give in.

A quiet throat clearing caught their attention, even if it couldn't end the staring contest. “Much as I'd _love_ to watch you two play _cock_ -of-the-roost _all night long_ , this _does_ solve our current dilemma,” the Joker's voice cut in, putting exaggerated emphasis on entirely too many words in that way that grated on Bruce's nerves.

“There's a wee bit of a _situation_ brewing in Gotham at the moment,” he continued as he oozed closer, and the staring contest came to an abrupt end when Batman hunched over in pain, thanks to a well placed elbow-jab in his ribs. “But _someone_ went and got himself too banged up for patrol.”

Before Bruce could do more than snarl at the sight of another version of himself absorbing such a cheap shot without even retaliating, the Joker had leaned in so close to his face that he couldn't help rearing back his head a little, just enough that he could look into his eyes without seeing double.

“How fortunate we are, then, that now there's someone here to keep an eye on things... that you can _trust_.” He couldn't have dripped more acid-laden sugar on the word if he'd tried. Batman winced, and Bruce knew it wasn't because of his busted ribs this time. Apparently their little _partnership_ wasn't exactly sailing on smooth waters.

“What sort of a situation?” Bruce asked, pointedly directing his question at the other Batman and not the criminal in front of him. The Joker smiled at the blatant rudeness, seeming entirely too amused by it. He did, however, let Batman take over the explanation, sauntering slowly over to pester Zatanna instead.

“Several shipments of military-grade guns were smuggled into Gotham three weeks ago, to fuel the latest power grab by no less than four different would-be crime lords. It might not have been so bad, seeing as there was very little ammo included in those shipments, but two weeks ago there was an explosion at Arkham, leading to several patients escaping. Now Penguin and Two-Face have resumed direct leadership of their gangs, and worse, Penguin owns an ammunition factory. If worse comes to worst, there's going to be a serious gang-war blood bath.”

“It's not like they're the innocents of Gotham you worry so much about,” Joker called out, proving that he was still listening.

“They're still people, no matter what choices they've made in life. If it's in my power to prevent their deaths, then I have to try.” The Joker made an exaggerated groan but didn't argue any further.

“So what's the game plan?”

“Start with an appeal to the Penguin. He's well invested in his cover as a legitimate businessman, but since his last flub got him sent back to Arkham, he'll need a good word to keep from being sent back now that he got out illegally. That might be enough of a bargaining chip to get his cooperation in tracking down the weapons.”

“And if that falls through, try to reach Harvey Dent?”

Batman sighed. “Don't get your hopes up on that route, though. Two-Face is as unstable as they come.”

“More so than him?” Bruce asked skeptically as he glanced at the Joker.

Batman narrowed his eyes but ignored the jab. “The Riddler may be willing to help locate where likely weapons caches are, if we can keep him safe from any gang backlash.”

“What about Catwoman?”

“She hasn't been spotted in Gotham for a while,” he admitted reluctantly, while Joker smirked.

“Kitty can't stand that I _won_ , even if she _claims_ she wasn't competing.”

“I assume Nightwing and Oracle are busy in Blüdhaven and Metropolis?”

“Yes,” Batman said tersely. “But it's unlikely they'd come even if they weren't.”

“They don't like the company he keeps!” Joker gleefully explained in a stage whisper.

Bruce sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose through his cowl, already feeling a headache coming on. What on Earth had been going through this Batman's mind when he allied himself with the Joker, of all people? Of _course_ it would set him at odds with his usual allies.  “I'll see what I can do.”

“What _we_ can do,” Joker corrected.

“Absolutely not.”

The clown ignored him, turning to his Batman instead. “You said you didn't want me working this case alone. Well, now I won't be. You've got the perfect babysitter!”

For a second, it looked like Batman agreed with him, and he opened his mouth to say as much. But as Bruce grimaced at the very idea, Batman paused, closed his mouth, and seemed lost in thought.

“Maybe that's not such a good idea,” he said hesitantly. Bruce relaxed his shoulders in relief, then realized that _he_ was the one being looked at with doubt. He stiffened again in offense.

“ _What?!_ ” Joker cried out, hands splayed out expressively. “What's your excuse _now?_ ”

“My _reason_ is the same as before. I want you back in one piece.”

Bruce bristled, and after a second of shock, the Joker burst into hysterical laughter. Even Zatanna seemed amused. “ _I'm_ not the problem here,” he muttered, realizing a split second too late that he'd created an opening.

Joker pounced on it. “Then you should have no trouble coming along! After all, there are no more  _good_ reasons not to. I'm going if  _you're_ going, and I  _know_ you can't resist.”

Bruce gave him a resentful look, realizing that he was fighting a losing battle. Batman apparently hadn't picked up on that yet, because he still seemed to be trying to decide, looking unhappily back and forth between his lookalike and his partner.

“You should work with him,” Zatanna chimed in with a coaxing tone, resting one foot on the chair and leaning her cheek against her raised knee. “You did come here for a reason, after all.”

“How can _you_ side with him?” Bruce asked in disbelief. “He shot you in the throat, once!”

“Did I _really?_ ” Joker asked, looking pleased with the thought. “I wish I could remember _that!_ ”

Zatanna brushed a hand over her throat, wincing in imagined pain. “Well. I got better,” she finished lamely, then glanced at the Joker. “Apparently that never happened in this world, though. Who knows what other untold benefits have come about thanks to partnering up with him? This is your chance to find out.”

Bruce didn't say anything more, which was as good as agreeing, and Batman gave a sigh and rubbed his ribs regretfully. “Alright, fine, both of you go. Just keep in mind that this is _my_ world, not yours,” he said to Bruce in a warning tone just shy of threatening, “and if you come back with J's blood on your fists, I _will_ find a way to make you regret it.”

Batman's eyes bored into his own, and with something of a sulk, Bruce looked away. His gaze went straight to the Joker, who hastily cleared his face of the expression he'd just been wearing. Bruce blinked. He'd only seen it for a split second, so he couldn't be certain what it _was_ , but it was definitely one he'd never seen on that face before.

“Well then!” the Joker said with a loud clap, rubbing his hands together gleefully. “Shall we depart to the Iceberg Lounge? Last one there is a rotten penguin egg!” He swiped his mask up from where he'd laid it as he flew past them to the steps, humming a merry tune. Bruce let out a resigned noise like a slow leak from a tire, and turned to follow.

“Keep your radio on,” Batman demanded softly. “I want to know everything that's happening.”

“Fine.”

“And... keep a close eye on him.”

“I'll keep him alive for you.”

“Not just that.”

Bruce paused, and looked back. Batman had a conflicted look on his face, like he didn't want to admit what he was about to say next. “The bomb... that blew Arkham open. It was the same kind that J always used.”

Bruce didn't bother hiding his unimpressed expression. “Uh-huh.”

“It might be a coincidence! But it also might not be. So just, keep an eye on him.”

Bruce just shook his head and turned away, heading down to grab a bike for himself before the Joker could get too far ahead.

* * *

The first thing Bruce learned as he slowly caught up with the Joker, is that the man had absolutely no concept of subtlety.

While the batbike was built like a tank and emitted a deep rumble that you could feel in the pit of your stomach, the Joker's lightweight motorcycle was obnoxiously high pitched, loud, and distinctive, audible from several blocks away. The white wings of his cape were actually made with glittering reflective scales, glowing under every streetlight as they fluttered dramatically behind him, never falling to rest because he never slowed down enough for them to lose the wind. He blared his horn as he charged wildly through red lights, he nearly scraped the skin off his limbs as he took corners at angles that should have sent him careening out of control. The only reason he wasn't causing traffic accidents left and right was because every other vehicle seemed to have pulled cautiously to the side, as if he was a blaring ambulance. Bruce almost thought he could hear laughter in the air, even over all the noise, then realized he _could_ : it was coming through the radio in his cowl.

“Hey, Batman Mark II: does this remind you of anything?” he leered as Bruce crept closer, his own headlight somehow making the Joker's cape shine even brighter. He didn't answer, but he knew exactly what he meant. If they were in his own reality, this ride would have ended with a bruised and bloody Joker being carted off to Arkham. Although... there probably would have been more property destruction and injured civilians caused by their chase. He brushed the thought to the back of his mind.

“Do you always drive like you're trying to kill yourself?” he couldn't resist from asking.

“Come on, Bats, the Iceberg Lounge is _all the way_ Downtown! Thrilling as it is, do you _really_ wanna spend all night cruising the streets?”

“That's generally how patrolling works.”

“But we're on a _mission!_ ” he said with unrestrained glee. “That's _much_ more fun.”

Bruce tightened his jaw and refused agree. They flew over a long bridge that spanned one of the rivers segmenting Gotham city into thirds. Bruce considered racing ahead of him, just to be in the lead, but decided he preferred being able to see exactly what he was up to.

The other Batman's voice broke in through the radio. “ _Mission or not, J, can you swing two streets to left? There's an armed robbery in progress at the corner general store._ ”

Bruce expected the Joker to ignore the request, so he was mildly surprised when the white streak turned promptly at the next intersection. He followed, of course, trailing further behind thanks to his greater mass forcing him to slow down more at corners. He revved the engine and tried to catch up, afraid of what the Joker might do when he got there.

As the general store came in sight, he could see two figures fleeing out the front door in panic, having already heard the sound of the Joker's bike. One of them was foolish enough to raise his gun; the Joker veered erratically left and right while blaring his horn, and the thug flinched hard enough he couldn't have hit the broad side of a barn. He didn't even bother pulling the trigger.

Frozen in terror, the two of them huddled together as the white dragon circled around them, a cloud of green gas emitting from pipes on his bike. “Fair warning,” he shouted playfully, idling his engine enough that they could hear, “it's only the second dose that's fatal! Better hope I haven't run into you before!” With a maniacal laugh, he peeled away again, the entire encounter having only taken about ten seconds.

Bruce slowed down as he drove past, watching the two thugs collapse unconscious on the ground before he sped on. “Joker Venom?” he asked as he pulled up alongside him.

“Ah-ah-ah,” the Joker tisked with a shake of his head. “ _Dragon_ Breath! Completely different.”

“Right,” he said skeptically. “And is it really fatal on the second dose?”

“ _Only_ if it occurs within one month of the first!” The dragon mask couldn't quite hide the edges of his grin. “In theory. No one's ever given me reason to test that, strangely enough. Face it, Batsy, I'm scarier to criminals than _you_ are!” He laughed and pulled ahead again, forcing Bruce to go ever faster in order to keep up.

He found himself pondering that as they sped through Midtown. There was some truth to it, no doubt: as a criminal, his unpredictability and sheer body count made other evildoers cringe in fear. But as a hero? Either he was heavily relying on his past reputation, or he was still committing murder. And Batman could never, _should never_ , condone that.

They crossed another river bridge, arriving Downtown in record time thanks to the fearfully cooperative traffic. The buildings grew swankier as they navigated the Diamond District, their architectural styles more art nouveau. Bruce was planning on parking a few blocks away and making the rest of the journey by rooftop, but the Joker ignored that suggestion, instead driving boldly right up to the sleek front entrance of the Iceberg Lounge.

The people waiting in line behind velvet ropes shrank back a little bit, much like the traffic had, but no one ran away. They eyed him cautiously, like he was a partially tamed wild animal, potentially dangerous but not if you made no sudden moves. Bruce sighed and pulled his bike up alongside the other, engaging its anti-theft mode. The Joker appeared to be seconds away from handing his key to the valet driver.

“Isn't your bike coated with poison residue right now?”

The valet driver hastily retracted his hand. “Whoopsie!” the Joker said with a shrug. “You don't mind if we park here illegally for a while, do you? No? Thanks.”

They proceeded through the front entrance with no objections from the bouncer. Bruce rolled his shoulders under his cape, feeling uncomfortably out of place. He didn't usually enter through the front door, not unless he was in his Matches Malone persona. Admittedly, the place looked more impressive when entered from the front instead of through a window in the offices or the storeroom door. One's eye was immediately drawn to the large pool and ever-changing ice sculpture set in the middle of the room, where real penguins dipped and played in the cold water. Today's sculpture was, he couldn't help noticing with suspicion, a beautifully rendered dragon.

The classy music playing from the band didn't stop when they walked in, but there was a drop in the general rumble of chatter as customers seated at various tables started glancing at them and whispering. Three waitresses in particular hustled over to greet them, one blonde, one dark-haired, and one red-headed: the lounge's managers and the Penguin's loyal henchwomen. “Raven! Jay! Lark, you little minx!” the Joker greeted them jovially by name, lifting up his mask to rest on top of his head. “Long time no see!”

“Dragon!” they said warmly, then with noticeably less enthusiasm, “Batman.”

“Aw, don't be that way! I promise I'll keep him under control,” the Joker said with obvious relish. Bruce tried not to grind his teeth.

“Are you two here for a table?” the blonde, Lark, asked doubtfully.

The Joker opened his mouth, already eyeing an expensive dish on a nearby patron's plate, but Bruce cut in before things could get ridiculous. “Sorry, but no. We came to speak to your boss.”

The girls exchanged lightning quick glances before smiling professionally, two of them peeling away back into the restaurant while one remained to guide them safely away from prying eyes and ears. They followed her up a set of richly carpeted stairs that led to the balcony tables, then up higher still.

“Officially, of course, the Penguin has been away on a lengthy vacation. It's not good for business to announce when he's locked up in Arkham,” the red-headed Raven explained as they followed her down a hall of closed doors labeled with names and titles.

“What about when he escapes?” Bruce asked bluntly.

“Well, then he obviously can't return in any official capacity, of course.” She shrugged as they reached the end of the hall, where an impressively carved set of double doors left no doubt whose office they had reached. Raven rapped firmly on the solid wood and waited to be acknowledged. “Boss?”

Nothing but silence. Bruce's eyes narrowed. Raven knocked again, then hummed in puzzlement. “He was just here,” she admitted, pulling a set of keys out from her cleavage. “I'd tell you to come back later, but I  _know_ you'd just kick the doors in,” she grumbled.

The Penguin's office was opulent to the extreme, just barely staying within the bounds of good taste. It was also empty of occupants. Bruce strode in like he owned the place, heading straight to the massive desk and examining the papers scattered across its surface. They were mostly update reports on his legitimate businesses, catching him up to speed on what he missed while away. Following a hunch, he searched through them, looking for a certain business in particular.

There weren't any reports about the Penguin's ammunition factory.

Scowling, he tossed the papers back down and looked around. The Joker was poking at a box of cigars on a bookcase next to a large window. Already knowing what he'd see, he moved to the window and peered out below. It was a perfect view above the Iceberg Lounge sign, from the line of people waiting to enter on the sidewalk, to the street that stretched out left and right. The Penguin would have easily been able to see them coming, alerted by the Joker's obnoxious engine, and since he fled the scene, it was a pretty safe bet that he wasn't willing to make any deals. He probably destroyed the paperwork from the factory on his way out, or took it with him.

“Let's go,” he growled, irritated.

“Oh, are we done here already?” the Joker asked, looking up from where he was cutting the tips off of cigars as poorly as possible before putting them back in the box.

Barely resisting the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake, he slammed the lid shut on the cigar box and glared at him from inches away instead. “Next time, you listen to me and don't  _drive right up to the front entrance!_ ”

“Oh, was _that_ the problem? Whoops,” the Joker replied flippantly, stepping even closer. “My bad.” Acidic eyes stared into his own with laser focus, taunting him to go further in his anger. Bruce gritted his teeth and forced himself to turn away, though he made sure his shoulder knocked the clown back into the bookcase on his way out.

_Partner. What a joke._

* * *

“So where are we heading now?”

No response.

“Bats.”

Silence.

“Baaaaaatsy.”

Nothing.

“Hey, your Majesty, where do you suppose the Dork Knight is heading now?”

“ _I'm guessing the Gentleman Duelist supply plant._ ”

“Thanks!”

Bruce continued to ignore the voices filtering in through his radio, focusing instead on keeping the lead in their race through the streets. If the Penguin wanted to avoid making a deal so badly that he actually took flight, then it was pretty much guaranteed that he was a player in the looming gang war. Either he was hording ammo in order to dominate his rivals, or he was making big bucks selling it to all sides.

But it wouldn't be long until word got around, and not everyone would be interested in _paying_. That was the  _only_ other reason he could think of that might explain the Penguin's hasty disappearance from his home base.

With a bad feeling tightening his gut, he coaxed yet more speed out of his bike as they rushed to the industrial side of town. He was still much, much too far away when they heard the distant sound of an explosion. It was a small one, maybe a grenade, but it was followed by automatic gunfire. Bruce cursed; if that was a gang on their way out, not their way in, then it was already too late.

“Ooh, showdown at the PPK corral? Let's ride 'em, cowboy!” The Joker put on a burst of speed, somehow managing to pull in front of him again with ease. Bruce fought down a wave of--no, not envy!--annoyance. Somehow it didn't seem fair that the Joker could travel light and free, without a real piece of armor to his person to weigh him down and reduce his agility. He might have worried about his safety, except the man had the resilience of a cockroach.

When the factory finally loomed into sight, there was an extremely noticeable hole in the exterior wall on the side, still smoking slightly. Sirens were beginning to approach from the distance, and a few workers were emerging from wherever they'd taken cover during the attack, looking shaken. The Penguin was there, waddling through the chunks of brick and shouting into a cellphone, clutching a clipboard in his other hand. He scowled at them as they drove right up and surrounded him on their bikes.

“Kill the noise, will ya? I'm on the phone,” he growled.

“Not anymore, you're not.”

Wrinkling his pointed nose, the Penguin considered his options. “I'll call you back,” he finally muttered and hung up.

Bruce got straight to the point. “Who was it, and what did they take?”

“The White Shark and his thugs. They liberated a large crate of specialty merchandise that happened to still be in the on-site warehouse. And they're not the first! My offsite warehouses are _top secret_ , but someone must have betrayed me tonight, because the Falcone family got wind of one somehow and raided it, too!”

“I suppose they made off with some of that _specialty merchandise_ too?”

The Penguin narrowed his eyes. “Yes. It's part of a limited run of a high demand product that was  _supposed_ to fetch top dollar! And now I've got repairs to deal with, too! Those thieves have no respect for proper business!”

“Are these thieves the same people you were going to sell to in the first place?”

The Penguin's lips fell shut, and he looked sulkily away. “That's confidential.”

“Uh-huh. Who else were you planning on selling to? Two-Face?”

His monocle almost fell out in exaggerated offense. “ _Definitely_ not him. As if I'd _help_ my worst rival!”

“So he's almost _certainly_ planning an attack of his own.”

The Penguin's mouth fell open, before he shut it with a contrite “oh.” He fiddled with his clipboard.

“How many more of these crates are there?”

“Just... just two. At different warehouses.”

“Convenient. Because that's four crates for four rival gangs, if you include Two-Face's and your own.”

He looked flustered. For some reason, his eyes darted to the Joker, who was slouched over his handlebars and watching the scene play out with boredom, his expression hidden behind his mask. “An unfortunate coincidence. I didn't want to be... out-supplied, you know. Gotta make sure I don't sell myself into a corner.”

The sirens were growing louder by the second. The Penguin squirmed and shifted from foot to foot, looking badly like he wanted to bolt. “Tell you what,” Bruce said roughly. “You tell me where these last two crates are. You tell me where your share of the recently imported firepower is, and any others that you know about. Then, _maybe_ , I'll see about putting in a good word for you at Arkham so you can get back to working above the table. Deal?”

The Penguin looked back and forth between him, the Joker, and the oncoming flashes of red and blue, getting more nervous by the second. “Alright, fine! But you have to take me with you! You'll need me to get in the buildings anyway.” Stepping back cautiously, making sure neither of them was about to attack, he turned and hurried over to a sleek black luxury car, pausing for just a second to squawk over the fresh set of bullet holes decorating its sides. “Just follow me, the first one is several blocks north of here!”

Tires squealing in his haste, the Penguin peeled away from the factory, followed closely by a pair of black and white escorts, one silent, one humming a little song in anticipation.

“Sorry.”

Bruce wasn't sure why it slipped out. He felt foolish as soon has he said it. The Joker stopped humming and was quiet for a moment. Or as quiet as he could be on that bike, anyway.

“Are you talking to me? Are we talking now?”

“I thought... the Penguin slipped away because of you.”

“And now you don't?”

_Why am I saying this?!_ “I was...” -- _wrong_ \-- “...presumptuous.”

“Is that a fancy word for wrong?”

“ _No_ ,” he muttered, feeling hot under his cowl.

The Joker laughed, but it sounded warmer than usual. “Oh,  _Batsy_ , you better be careful throwing around such  _eloquent_ apologies, you might turn a girl's head!” He continued to chuckle to himself and said, so softly he might not have meant it to be heard, “I'd forgotten how adorably constipated you used to be.”

Bruce didn't know what to make of that.

* * *

At the batcave, stuck in the control chair with little to do but monitor the situation and the radio, Batman scowled and made a conscious effort not to clench his fists.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [I have a tag](http://a-stands-for.tumblr.com/tagged/hello-visual-inspiration-for-my-current-fic) just for my favorite visual interpretations of the Joker. I think the Arkham Origins design has pretty much hit spot on that perfect line where beauty and grotesque meet.


	3. Tiger by the Tail

Bruce didn't see it coming, though in retrospect, he felt like he should have, somehow. Towering above their heads, the rusted metal smokestacks and scaffolding still stood like a monument to decay and failure, silhouetted against the glow of city lights off the ever-cloudy night sky. The giant sign was still legible, barely, where it perched above a wall of broken windows: Ace Chemical. The Joker's birthplace.

Bruce side-eyed the Penguin as he heaved himself awkwardly out of his car. “Your secret warehouse... is Ace Chemical.”

“Why not?” the Penguin grunted, either oblivious or uncaring of the history that the building held for the two caped figures looming over him. “It's been derelict for decades, but it's still real estate. If you ask me, it went for a steal.” He waddled past them and swiped a security card through the reader at the perimeter gate. The fence was modern and in top condition, topped with barbed wire to keep vandals and squatters out. It swung open automatically, closing again once they had driven through.

Bruce couldn't help watching the Joker as they set foot into the building, wondering what his reaction to this place was going to be. It wasn't like it was the first time the clown had ever been back, of course, but he didn't know how long it had been in  _this_ reality. The dragon mask hid his expression well, though, and his body language showed only mild curiosity as he peered about the vast expanse.

Glass and grit crunched under their feet as they walked past enormous, presumably empty vats, still emblazoned with poison warnings. They passed a set of metal steps leading up to the catwalks and what looked like a control room, and further still until they came to a solid looking wall with a wide, thick metal door. A vault wheel held it shut tight, with a small number pad mounted beside it.

“The safe room was busted open when I bought the place, but all it took was a new lock before it was good to go. Now, what was the combination...” His stubby fingers hovered over the keypad before punching in a few digits. Nothing happened. “Oh wait, that was the one for my briefcase. Was it this one?”

Bruce sighed and looked for the Joker, only to realize he had disappeared. Alarmed, he spun around and scanned the area, quickly spotting the glow of white up on one of the catwalks. Frowning, he left the Penguin to mutter over the keypad and backtracked to the metal staircase, climbing to the top on silent feet.

The Joker was standing right next to the edge, not quite leaning on the railing as he peered down into one of the stories-high vats. It was much too dark to see to the bottom, making it appear as if the blackness within went on forever. Bruce moved closer cautiously, wishing he could see his face.

“Joker?”

He showed no sign that he had heard him. Bruce's fingers twitched, wanting to pull him further away from the dangerously rusted rail, wanting to pull the mask off so he could read his expression. He didn't dare reach out, though, in case it startled him. “Joker,” he repeated, a little louder this time.

One gloved hand let go of the railing and lifted slowly, slowly, to the chin of his mask, sliding it up to rest on the top of his head. Bruce let out a soft sigh of relief, then wondered why it had bothered him so much in the first place. Pale eyes shone faintly within shadowed sockets, his green lashes fanning low as he stared down into the pit. He didn't seem upset or sad, though. If anything, Bruce had to say that the Joker looked... at peace.

“One bad day,” he whispered. “One great fall.”

The words didn't match his expression. Something else about them tugged at his brain, too, but he couldn't figure out why. He frowned as he tried to work out the puzzle. He was already familiar with the Joker's lament about how one bad day changed his life forever. So that left--

“Two-Face!” came a surprised cry from below, and Bruce snapped to attention, rushing back to the end of the catwalk. The Penguin was backing away from the safe room with his cane clutched defensively between his hands, while out from the massive door poured a dozen cronies and the aforementioned crime boss himself. “How... where...”

“Looking for something?” Two-Face asked mildly as he stepped aside, showing off the empty room behind him. “Did you really think I'd let you pull ahead in our little arms race?” His thugs formed a loose circle around them, cracking their knuckles or fingering the triggers on automatic handguns. “Your stash is long gone. I figured you'd come to check on it yourself, though.” The tattered flesh on the left side of his face pulled tight into a vicious smile. “I just never imagined you'd come _alone._ ”

“I'm not alone,” the Penguin blustered, his beady eyes darting around him in panic. “I brought a whole limousine full of valued employees, who are currently securing the area. One crack of gunfire and they'll all come swarming!”

Two-Face chuckled, pulling out a pair of guns of his own. “One crack of gunfire and my biggest contender for control of this city will be out of the running.” He leveled the weapons at the Penguin's forehead. “I think I'll risk it.”

The Penguin looked like he was trying to retract his head into his hunched shoulders. “Don't you need to flip for it?” he squeaked desperately.

Two-Face narrowed his eyes. “No,” he growled, starting to pull the triggers.

Several batarangs suddenly struck down a number of henchmen, and in that moment of surprise, the Penguin struck out viciously with the blade within his cane. Two-Face dropped his guns with a cry of pain, clutching his hands to his chest and darting away to the side as a bat-shaped silhouette dropped down from above, landing on top of a few more henchmen in the process.

“Batman!” Two-Face roared angrily. “I should have known, if you could team up with the _Joker_ , you'd soon be teaming up with other villains too!” He snarled as he made a leap for a fallen gun, swiping it up and firing it where the dark figure had been a split second before. One of his henchmen yelped instead.

“Where are you!” Two-Face shouted, blood dripping from the cuts on his hands and rendering his grip slippery. He whipped the handkerchief out of his suit pocket and attempted to mop up one of the cuts as his eyes darted around, taking in the situation. Half his henchmen were unconscious on the floor now, the rest missing, presumably hidden from view by the giant vats as they chased down the escaping Penguin or tried to find the bat. “Come on out, Batman,” he called more calmly as he got himself under control. “Don't you want to team up with me, too?” He paused for effect, letting the bitterness well up in his voice. “Oh, wait. We _already tried_ that, didn't we.”

“Two-Face,” Bruce's voice echoed somewhere in the darkness.

“DIDN'T WE?!” he bellowed, firing blindly at the sound. A shadow darted away, ducking around vats and circling around him.

“Please. Let me talk to Harvey.”

“ _Let me talk to Harvey!_ ” he repeated in a mocking tone. “I've got some sad, sad news for you, Batman.”

“I know he's in there.”

“Oh, but he's _not._ ”

“Just let me talk to him.”

He started laughing, a voiceless staccato of breath huffing out his nose. “Hey, remember that time I got plastic surgery and went back to being normal, plain ol' Harvey Dent, 24/7?”

Bruce watched him cautiously from around a vat. “Of course.”

“And you trained me to be a vigilante, and let me guard our dear, beloved Gotham City for you? For a _whole year?_ ”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“But then. But then! The _moment_ some loser picked up my old M.O. and tried to frame me, out came the accusations! Out came the suspicions! Out came the _truth_ , that everything I'd worked for meant _nothing!_ ”

“That's not—”

“I was _better_. I was _cured!_ But _you_ , just. Couldn't. _Trust me!_ ”

Bruce let out a shaky breath. “Harvey.”

“And then _he_ came back!” he continued, his voice climbing higher and tighter with each sentence. “He came back, and he made me do _this!_ To my own face!” He choked on a sob. “It's all fallen apart again, Batman, and this time, it _really is your fault!_ ” More wild shots were fired into the dark, the flash of the gun illuminating the agony that contorted Two-Face's expression in harsh bursts of light. “And now you think you can just _try again_ with someone even _worse?_ You've got the tiger by the tail, this time! Or should I say, the _dragon_. And when you decide you can't trust him anymore and let go—and you _will_ , because you're _incapable_ of trust—he's going to devour you _whole._ ”

Bruce felt the press of steel against the back of his head, and closed his eyes with frustration. He'd been so distracted by Two-Face's tirade, he didn't notice the two thugs sneaking up behind him. An insistent prodding forced him to walk out into the open, the second thug keeping a safe distance away so he couldn't take them both out at once.

“There you are,” Two-Face said softly, completely calm again. He slicked his disheveled hair back, coating it in blood from his hands. “One winged rat. Now, the question is, did you bring the winged snake, too?”

There was a shuffling off to the side, and the Joker staggered awkwardly forward, the barrel of a gun pressed under his chin by one thug and his arms pinned tightly behind him by another. “Don't be silly, Harvey. I can't be a snake, I have feet!”

“I can fix that,” he growled, pointing his gun at one of his spats. The Joker just laughed, tapping his shoes in a little jig. 

“You know, I always thought, if I were to join the Winged Do-Gooder Brigade, I'd be a flying squirrel, you know? But they don't hatch from eggs.”

Two-Face actually paused as he tried to reason that out. “Bats don't hatch from eggs, either.”

“Of course not!” the Joker laughed. “What are you, crazy?”

Two-Face sighed and raised the gun up to his chest instead. “I've got a bone to pick with you.”

“Is it a jaw bone? 'Cause I think I can see yours, a little bit, right there...”

“Take off his stupid mask,” he ordered his followers.

The moment the dragon-head slipped off the Joker's face, a blast of green gas sprayed out from behind its golden teeth, dousing the two thugs. They reared back, coughing and hacking before collapsing on the ground unconscious. “Oh, you shouldn't do that,” the Joker said with a grin, now that it was too late. “It's booby trapped.”

Two-Face narrowed his eyes and stepped boldly through the lingering cloud, unaffected, and rammed the muzzle of his gun into the Joker's solar plexus as he slammed him into the wall of a vat. The Joker wheezed and held his hands up in surrender, laughing weakly. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

Two-Face looked like he was seconds away from pulling the trigger before he smiled instead, lifting his empty hand to pat it almost affectionately against the Joker's cheek, leaving a smear of red against the white skin. “That's right. We  _are_ friends, aren't we?”

The Joker's smile dropped at the sudden change in demeanor. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, waiting for him to continue.

“Such good friends. Bosom buddies, you might say.” He leaned in uncomfortably close, angling his head so he could see Bruce's reaction. “Why don't you tell your _new_ friend?”

“Tell him what?”

“About Arkham.” At the Joker's continued silence, he raised the gun and stroked it almost lovingly along his jawline.

“Well, it's an asylum for the criminally insane, named after Elizabeth Ark--”

“About the _bomb_ ,” he growled in his ear.

“What bomb?” The gun suddenly jabbed into his throat, forcing his chin up with the force of it. “Oh, _that_ bomb!” he choked out, followed by a gurgling laugh. “Silly me.” He shrugged his shoulders, hands still raised uselessly in surrender. “I thought you meant _this_ bomb.”

Two-Face's eyes went wide and darted to the Joker's hand, but it was already too late. The trigger mechanism that he'd failed to notice until now made a soft click as it was pressed.

There was a massive BOOOM from somewhere in the middle of the factory, the blast wave rolling over them like a solid wall. Bruce had dropped the moment he spotted the trigger, but the two thugs behind him went flying backwards, landing hard on the floor. Two-Face and the Joker were somewhat sheltered by the vat, but the distraction was more than enough for the Joker to slam his palm into the other's chin, sending him reeling back. One spinning kick later and the gun went flying from his already wounded hands.

“Gee,” he said, his voice muffled due to the ringing in everyone's ears. “I sure hope that wasn't a load-bearing beam!”

The ceiling shuddered ominously. Cursing, Two-Face stumbled wildly over to the safe room, while the few henchmen that were now wide awake dragged their unconscious compatriots that way, too. The Joker had just enough presence of mind to pick up his mask before losing himself in staring with fascination at the metal bending and bowing over their heads. Bruce cursed and enveloped the fool in his arms, firing a grappling hook at one of the rafters closest to the exit.

“Did you even have a plan to get out of here once you set that off?” he shouted as they flew across the expanse, barely dodging several pieces of sheet metal.

“Just you,” the Joker confessed, snuggling tighter into his grip. “You know I _love_ when you're forced to save me!”

Bruce resisted the urge to drop him. Barely.

* * *

“So then, realizing that Mr. Cobblepot had slipped away during the altercation, you came here to chat with your third choice,” Edward said over steepled fingers, slouched back in his chair. Print-outs of news articles littered the desk of his business office, almost burying the little placard that read _Detective Nigma_.

“Let's make it simple, Nigma. Are you willing to help or not?”

“First of all: no. Second of all: _hell_ no. And third? Absolutely not.” Bruce's eyes narrowed dangerously, but Edward stared back blandly behind his green domino mask and refused to be intimidated. “You're not going to find a _stash_ of guns laying around anymore. Word on the street is that things are coming to a head _tonight_ , so I can almost guarantee that every last one of these ill-gotten weapons is in some trigger-happy gang member's hot little hands. Reason number two: there's no future in making powerful enemies, and I'm rather fond of being alive. Bluster all you want, but _you're_ no threat in that department. As for number three: really? You want to waste my intellect on a _missing items_ case? We're not friends, Batman, and I don't currently owe you any favors. Unless you can offer me something to pique my interest, then _leave_. Don't let the door hit you on your way out. Or the window, as the case may be.”

His speech finished, the man formerly known as the Riddler crossed his arms and waited, lips pursed. Bruce looked over at the Joker, who had his mask up and was grinning with delight after witnessing Edward's tirade.

“Joker,” he said firmly, waiting until he knew he had the clown's attention. “I'd like to have a word alone with our... recalcitrant associate.”

Without the slightest shift in his smile, The Joker's expression still managed to shift from amused to dangerously chilly. “Would you, now.” They glared at each other, and Bruce wondered how he was going to get him to step out without it turning into a scene.

“ _It's okay, J_ ,” Batman's voice filtered gently through the radio, “ _he came to our dimension for some private reason, remember? Let's let him get his personal business over with._ ”

The Joker's eyes had gone distant while he listened, then sharpened into something unimpressed but less antagonistic. “Very well,” he drawled, turning on the heel of his designer shoes, “I'll go _freshen up_.” He opened the front door to Nigma's office and spotted something beyond that made him smirk. “Ooh, and maybe terrorize somebody's secretary!”

“What? Leave her alone!” Edward called out hastily, but the door slammed shut on his words. He looked pained. “Please don't tell me I'm going to have to hunt down a new one after this,” he muttered with a pout.

Bruce reached up and turned off the radio in his cowl, rendering all further conversation between just the two of them. “Now then,” he began, but Edward cut him off.

“Are you really Batman?”

Bruce blinked. “What makes you think I'm not?”

His eyes narrowed. “I know the Robins like to don the cowl sometimes when the Bat's away; don't bother thinking I can't tell, even if I'm too polite to say anything.” Bruce suspected  _politeness_ was not the right word for his motives, but let him continue. “But your stature, posture, and voice are spot on. So why do you feel so... _off?_ ”

“How do you mean?”

“You called him _Joker_. Your body language screams that you're uncomfortable in his presence. I was under the impression that taking him on as your partner was _your_ idea. Either there's some serious trouble in paradise, or you've had a _complete_ change of heart, or you're not the usual Bat.”

Bruce was silent for a moment. “You're not wrong,” he finally conceded.

“Of course I'm not wrong,” he said smugly, then frowned. “Now, how am I right?”

“I _am_ Batman. I've just done a little inter-dimensional traveling.”

Edward looked like he'd bitten into a lemon. “Inter... _great_. Now I'm going to find myself considering that as a possibility for  _every_ puzzle I come across.” He sighed. “So, what, you're from a world where you never tried to save the Joker?”

“I tried. He just turned down my offer of rehabilitation.”

Edward froze. His eyes sought out Bruce's as if moving in slow motion. “ _That's_ what you offered him?”

Bruce frowned. “Of course.”

He snorted. “Well, no wonder you failed.”

Bruce clenched his jaw, but in the end, he couldn't resist. “Explain.”

“You can't _rehabilitate_ the Joker. That's impossible.” At Bruce's terse silence, Edward sighed and stood up, pacing around the room. “ _I'm_ rehabilitated, okay?” he began, gesturing to himself. “Cured of my obsessive compulsion with riddles, even if my interest remains. I'm reformed! And it _sucks_.” Bruce's eyes widened, and Edward pulled off his bowler hat so he could rub his hand through his hair in frustration. “I've hurt people. I was never a killer at heart, but I won't say it didn't happen. And I may not have cared much at the time, but _now_ , it weighs on me. There's a _guilt_ that just won't quite leave me alone!” He donned his hat again, using the motion to hide his face until he could get his expression back under control.

“But the Joker?” he finally continued. “He kills people as easily and as often as taking a breath. He's toned it down, now, for _your_ sake, and that's the _only_ reason. He curbs himself solely to please you. He certainly hasn't gained an appreciation for _human life_ or anything. He doesn't feel an ounce of guilt, or regret. And you know what?” He paused his pacing right in front of Bruce, a single finger raised as if in accusation. “That's the _best possible_ outcome. Because just _try_ to imagine what would happen if he were sane enough to feel the weight of his sins!”

Bruce tried to imagine it. “He'd go mad.”

“He'd go _right the hell back_ to being completely mad! So _no_ , you're never going to “rehabilitate” the Joker,” he sneered with gratuitous air-quotes. “It's _way_ too late for that. The best you can hope for is to train him out of it like a _dog_. Or a pet dragon, apparently.” He gave one final huff before spinning around and returning to his chair, slamming his feet on top of the desk with a theatrical flair of finality. “Now, what was it you wanted to ask me about? _Besides_ the gun shipments.”

“Do you know who was behind the recent bombing of Arkham?”

Edward sulked. “What do you take me for? Of course I know.”

“Who?”

“I'm not telling.”

“ _Why?_ ” he growled.

“Because there's a bigger picture here, one that you have yet to see, and I'm not going to ruin the surprise for you.” He paused as Bruce stalked closer, unimpressed at the threatening display. “And you can _stop_ looming over me like that. It's more than my life's worth if I spill these particular beans. You can figure it out easily enough yourself, anyway.”

Bruce clenched his fists, breathing hard, but managed not to lose it on the stubborn man. “ _Fine_. Just answer me one last thing, then.”

“Ask away.”

“What does the phrase “Humpty Dumpty” mean to you?”

Edward blinked, thrown off by the non sequitur. “The nursery rhyme?”

“Possibly.”

“It's a useless riddle. Everyone already knows the answer! Most people don't even realize it ever _was_ a riddle.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It's an egg, of course. The riddle being, what's impossible to fix once it's broken?” The corner of his lip quirked upward. “Kind of like the Joker's brain, isn't it?” He laughed like he'd made a silly little joke.

Bruce didn't join in.

* * *

He found the Joker sitting on his bike, talking to someone on a cheap cell phone. He ended the conversation and hung up the moment he saw Bruce coming.

“Who were you talking to?”

“My stylist,” he said blandly. Holding eye contact, he deliberately snapped the phone into pieces and tossed it over his shoulder into the alley, as if daring him to prove otherwise. Bruce frowned, reaching up to turn the radio in his cowl back on. The Joker blatantly did the same on his mask as he pulled it back down, which meant that _whoever_ he'd been talking to, the other Batman hadn't overheard the conversation either. They glared at each other. “How did your _personal business_ go?”

“It went about as well as expected. Did you leave his secretary in one piece?”

He gave an exaggerated groan. “She was no fun at all. Probably reads user manuals for entertainment.” He shrugged, then began rubbing his hands together in excitement. “So! Things are coming to a head with the power grab, eh? Sounds like it's time to grab some popcorn and watch the show!”

“ _Or_ we could try to defuse the situation.”

“Good luck on that.” He made an elaborate show of checking his wrist for the time, despite not wearing a watch. “If we hurry we can still grab front row seats!”

Ignoring him, Bruce turned to his other self for intel. “Batman, I trust you've been monitoring the movements of our major players?”

“Right,” the Joker muttered sourly. “See you at the docks.” With a sudden roar of noise, he peeled out on his bike and sped away, ignoring all orders to wait.

“ _You'd better follow him_ ,” Batman said as Bruce quickly mounted his batbike. “ _I've been keeping an eye on traffic cameras and following up on tips all night, but at this point all I can tell you for certain is what logic dictates; that the face-off is going to occur somewhere with enough room and available cover for four bloodthirsty gangs, yet secluded enough that the cops won't be called immediately. If J says it's the docks, then it's probably the docks. They're a perfect fit, and I wouldn't be surprised if he has his own sources._ ”

“Sources,” Bruce muttered, but powered up his bike and headed that way. There was a massacre brewing that only he could stop, and the worry and fear wrought by that knowledge made his blood sting with adrenaline.

_I'm following an unrepentant villain who lives for overblown shows of death and destruction, and has somehow been allowed free reign to do whatever he wants. What are the odds that he hasn't orchestrated this entire thing?_

* * *


	4. Gold

“This is more like it!” the Joker said happily, peering down from the rooftop of an office building overlooking the docks. “Box office seats!”

“Forgive my lack of enthusiasm,” Bruce said sourly as he joined him.

“You're forgiven,” he said magnanimously. “You're watching too, aren't you, your majesty?”

“ _I've pulled up a few cam feeds, and I've got a drone scouring the area. I don't see anyone, though._ ”

Bruce wanted to make a snide comment about his precious Dragon being wrong, but since he was counting on him being the mastermind by this point, he held his tongue. “Why does he call you that?” he asked instead.

“ _Hmm?_ ”

“Why does he call you a king?”

“ _Well, I always assumed it was because knights live to_ kill _dragons, but that's merely a guess._ ”

The Joker tutted, obviously in too good a mood to take offense at being discussed like he wasn't there. “Nice try, my liege, but that's not it at all.”

“ _What is it, then? Whenever I ask, you never tell me._ ”

“Because it was just a silly little thought I had! Pay it no mind.”

“ _Come on, J,_ ” Batman said in a gentle, coaxing voice that grated on Bruce's nerves. “ _We've got some time to kill, and I've always wanted to know._ ”

“Weeeeeeell...” the Joker hummed as he waffled over the matter. He glanced at Bruce, then snubbed him deliberately by turning his back on him as he sat down on the ledge skirting the flat roof. “I suppose it doesn't really matter. Oh, all right, I'll tell you!” Clearing his throat dramatically, he began to sing a little song. The moment the first words slipped from his mouth, Bruce went stiff, his eyes wide.

“Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,  
Humpty Dumpty had a _great_ fall!  
_All_ the king's horses and _all_ the king's men  
Couldn't put Humpty together again!”

The Joker prattled on, oblivious to the shock rolling off of half his audience. “Well,  _I_ had a great fall! And try and try, as hard as they might, all those doctors and psychiatrists at Arkham couldn't fix me back to the way I was before! So that raises a question: if all the king's horses and all the king's men have failed... _who does that leave?_ ”

“ _...the king._ ”

“The king! And therefore...” he trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders. “I told you it was just a silly little thought.”

“ _You've got movement._ ”

Bruce shoved all thoughts of fortune telling and guides aside as he darted over to the ledge and hunched down, scanning the ground and shipping containers that bordered the area. The Joker pushed up his mask so he could hold a pair of opera glasses to his eyes. “ _There_ we are. The advance scouts arrive! I see a Falcone flunky... a White Shark stooge... hmm.” He peered wildly around the area, almost bouncing with excitement. “Ooh! There, over there! A Two-Face toady! Now we just need a Penguin peon and we'll have four of a kind!”

“Assuming he's coming. Assuming he didn't lose his last crate of ammo.”

“Of course he didn't. Now, where could that mook be?”

Bruce turned his head slowly, staring a hole into the side of the Joker's face. “How do you know.” It was not phrased as a question.

The Joker's eyes flickered, and Bruce recognized it for the tell that it was. “Know what?” he asked innocently.

“The Penguin said someone betrayed him tonight, and gave his enemies the locations of where he'd stashed the goods. So. How do you _know_ that one of those locations was never compromised?”

“I... didn't say anything like that,” he replied, the evasiveness in his words and posture betraying weakness. Bruce zeroed in on it like a predator who'd scented blood.

“You want to know what I think?”

“What?” he asked cautiously, trying to shift subtly into a more ready stance.

“I think you're _definitely_ the one who bombed Arkham to free the Penguin and Two-Face. I think you _wanted_ Penguin to manufacture more ammunition, to add more fuel for the fire.” The Joker slipped to his feet and tried to walk casually backwards, while Bruce advanced on him with every accusation. “I think you've been purposely antagonizing all the gangs, to make sure they're ready to blow. I think _you're_ the one who has the Riddler intimidated into silence. I think you're stringing your so-called _king_ along for a lark, while you play the same vicious, bloody games as always!” He finished with a growl as the Joker ran out of room, his back thumping against the roof-top door, his hands raised in surrender.

“Well... that's just what _you_ think,” he said with a nervous laugh, grin stretched wide. “My Golden King will know better! Tell 'em, Brucie!” There was no immediate reply, so the Joker prodded further. “You believe in me, don't you?”

“ _I... I just... I don't_ know!” came the conflicted voice over the radio. The Joker's face fell like someone had just told him the circus wasn't coming to town after all.

“I think I've had just about enough of this foolishness,” Bruce said with finality. He raised his fist, drew it back, and slugged that crestfallen face with all his might.

“ _Don't!_ ” Batman shouted in alarm as the Joker stumbled to the side, one hand clutching at his jaw. He had managed to keep his feet under him, hunched over in a way that made the mask on top of his head appear to be staring at him in accusation. Weak laughter began to haunt the air as a string of blood and spittle oozed down to the rooftop. “ _Bruce, I_ warned _you--_ ”

Bruce flicked off the radio again. How could any version of himself be so willfully blind? It made his skin crawl with disgust. This entire night had been an exercise in pointless futility. Zatanna's fortune was a load of crock; no amount of effort on his part was ever going to change the Joker's nature. A broken egg could never be restored.  _Even_ by a king.

The Joker's laughter grew louder as he finally straightened up, the teeth of his garish smile outlined in blood. “You know me _so_ well, don't you? Dear _old_ Batman, always so certain. Always so serious. Always so _ready_ to poop on any party that dares raise its voice in celebration! Well I've got _one thing_ to say to you, Mr. Stick-in-the-Mud...”

“And that is?” he growled, muscles tensing as he prepared to spring.

“Bye!”

Using that agile speed of his, the Joker spun around and dove off the side of the roof, his dragon-wings snapping wide to slow down his fall. Hitting the ground several stories below on light feet, he kicked open the alley door into the building and darted inside before Bruce could even ready a line for his own descent.

Scowling, he lowered himself to the ground and checked out the doorway carefully before entering. Nothing but darkness; a corridor full of closed doors and devoid of windows. No hastily dropped surprises, but no Joker, either. “So it's a hunt, then. Very well. You won't get far.”

A drone flew into the alley, hovering at head-height. “ _Don't do this!_ ” Batman's voice crackled over a tiny speaker, and Bruce gave it a dirty look before slamming the door shut so it couldn't follow. He didn't have time to waste on someone who couldn't even make up his mind which side he was on.

Turning on his thermal vision, Bruce worked his way quickly down the hall, checking each room for the glow of a warm body. He needn't have bothered, though. A sane man would have kept quiet, but the Joker's laughter echoed across the building in a nervous compulsion. He followed it to the stairwell door and looked up. The stairs lacked a central opening wide enough for him to fit through even if he used his grappling hook, and the solid steps blocked his thermal imaging.

“It's not our usual sort of venue, is it?” the Joker mused from somewhere up above. “No carnival music, no sweeping cityscape, no moonlit rooftops. Hardly romantic at all! I suppose there's something to be said for a quick-and-dirty in an office supply closet, but that's never really been my _style_.”

Bruce rushed up the stairs, keeping a sharp eye out for the first glimpse of heat in case the Joker was lying in wait with a weapon.

“I feel like I should apologize? I'm usually better prepared! You know, rose petals, trap doors, candles, explosive trip-wires... I promise, I did put a lot of effort in for tonight! It's just not going down quite... how I imagined.” The voice faltered, then muttered softly with venom, “I don't need any suggestions from _you_ , faithless harlot. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of _myself_.”

While the Joker was distracted, Bruce finally caught up, spotting him leaning in an open doorway. He flung a batarang, hoping to pin him by his cape, but the glowing silhouette hastily fell back and slammed the door. Bruce rushed up the flight of steps to follow, arriving just in time to hear a muffled thud and see a flash of heat. The door held fast as he slammed against it, a familiar scent filling the air; one of his own glue grenades.

Cursing, Bruce whirled around and headed up a level, entering the next floor of offices. This one was more open, lined with windows that looked out on yet another office building. A skybridge linked the two together on the floor below, and he could already see the Joker's fleeing figure as he raced across it. He sought out the elevator, knowing he was wasting time on this run-around when he could be trying to disrupt the arriving gang-armies, and that preventing him from doing so was probably the Joker's intention, but he still couldn't convince himself to let him get away.

He burst out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened and raced across the skybridge, looking for signs of where his prey might have vanished to next. The elevator on this side was in use, the numbers that flashed above it decreasing, so he ran for the stairwell and took it up, instead. He checked the roof first, and was rewarded with the sight of a vibrant glow. Flipping off his thermal vision, he watched as the Joker spun around in surprise.

“Damn it, you don't fall for even the most basic tricks, do you,” he lamented with a sigh.

In answer, Bruce rushed forward and slammed him to the ground, pinning him there and making a grab for his throat. To his irritation, he found that the white dragon armor covering the Joker's shoulders and neck did an excellent job of preventing strangulation. Reaching for the chin of the mask instead, he found the switch that deactivated the booby trap and ripped it away from his head, tossing it off to the side. The faint tinny sound of a voice over its radio could still be heard, but now the words could no longer be distinguished.

“Congratulations, Joker, after all that running about, all you've accomplished is to end up right back on the roof, one building over.”

“Didn't you know, it's the _journey_ , not the destination that counts! Wasn't it fun? Just like the good ol' days! Blood boiling, heart soaring, pain imminent! I hadn't realized just how much I missed this! Though I suppose it hasn't actually been all that long for _you_ \--” Bruce cut him off by slugging him in the eye. “ _Ow._ That's gonna be a shiner.”

“Why did you do it?!” Bruce shouted in fury. “After everything he gave up for you, why did you throw it all away?”

The Joker gave him a dirty look that melted into wild laughter. “You just can't _see_ it. I never would have made a good sidekick. We're too similar, and also too different! I'm a strong, independent woman who doesn't take orders from anyone, only requests! _That's_ why he made me his partner instead!”

Bruce snarled at the nonsensical answer, hitting him again for good measure. His fists no longer seemed to have an effect, though, as the laughter and words poured out unceasing.

“It's hard, don't you know? Being _good_. I'm not a _tame_ dragon. It takes _work_. You should ask Eddie about it sometime, _he_ understands! It would be so easy... so easy to just let go again...” His laughter took an edge of mania, the look in his eyes wild and desperate. “Everything could go back to the way it was before! You'd go back to being an untouchable dream... I'd go back to trying to make you strong enough to kill. It wouldn't take much to make me fall; all you'd have to do is drag me to the _edge_ and let go! Being mad is easy. Being mad is _freedom._ Nothing matters when you're in pieces. Everything's funny when you're broken!” Bruce hit him again, and this time the laughter stopped abruptly, the silence in its wake jarring. “But... it will never get you what you want,” the Joker confessed in a soft voice.

Bruce paused, one fist still raised in the air. “And  _what_ ,” he growled, “ _do_ you want?”

Pale green eyes struggled to peer out from swollen, puffy eyelids. “I already  _have_ what I want.  _Who_ I want, rather. And I  _don't_ want  _you_.” 

Bruce stared at him, his own eyes wide behind his cowl, and couldn't understand why the Joker's words had the power to hurt.

Taking advantage of his momentary shock, the Joker managed to shove him off and scurry to his feet, only to stumble back to his knees a few steps later. “You can keep your moonlit chases and your impervious frowns and your stubborn refusal to see the cracks in your own reflection!” Bruce flipped back up and took a step in his direction, but had to leap aside to dodge a sudden flurry of sharp objects. “Here, you can keep my knives, too!” Even while reeling from the blows to his head, the Joker's aim was too close for comfort. When he began crawling forward again, Bruce realized he was heading for the discarded mask, no doubt for the poison it still contained.

Before he could interfere, Batman's drone whirled in from out of nowhere, hovering threateningly in front of his face. “ _That's enough--_ ” was all that made it through the speaker before Bruce grabbed it out of the sky, crunched its fragile form between his fists, and threw it at the mask, sending it skittering across the rooftop and further out of reach. The Joker whined in frustration and changed direction, still not giving up.

With a sigh, Bruce walked over and placed a heavy boot on his back, pinning him on his stomach. “It's over, Joker. It's time you went back to where you belong.”

“You're not my Bat. You can't tell me what to do,” he giggled, still trying to wriggle away.

Gripping the top of his white cape, Bruce pulled the Joker to his feet and spun him around, ready to punch his lights out so he could focus on the more important task of stopping the gang war. The Joker had other ideas, however, and promptly detonated a glue grenade over their feet. Bruce looked down at the sight and frowned. “And what, exactly, was the point of that?” he asked, already reaching for the compartment on his belt that contained the matching solvent.

“The point was, _you're_ wearing boots,” he said with a smirk, and before Bruce could grab him again, the Joker slipped out of his shoes and darted out of reach. Veering drunkenly from side to side, he made his way over to the dragon mask and plucked it off the ground, spinning it around in his hands in triumph. “And I know how long it takes you to get out of them.”

“Bet it ruined your fancy shoes, though,” Bruce muttered as he dissolved the glue and freed his feet.

“My Bat will buy me new ones. _My_ Bat takes _good_ care of me.” The sound of a great crowd of jeering voices drifted up on the wind, reminding them of what was at stake. Cautiously, the two foes began to circle each other, looking for the slightest weakness so they could end this quickly.

“Little good it does him, since you don't appreciate it.”

“I appreciate it more than _you_ can possibly understand!”

“What did he even offer you, if it wasn't rehabilitation?” His lip curled. “His bed?”

“ _Yes_ , Bats, that's _exactly_ it. He promised to cure me with the power of his healing cock.” The Joker's sarcasm was palpable.

“ _What_ , then? To overlook your past crimes? To laugh at your terrible jokes? To let you play hero?”

“He offered _himself!_ ” the Joker screeched. “He _admitted_ that he's a little crazy, too! He showed me the flaws in his _own_ soul and let me pour myself in, and instead of tearing _him_ apart, he held _me_ together! He put the pieces where they belong and didn't _begrudge_ me for still having _cracks!_ He filled them with gold and made me feel like my future could still be beautiful, in spite of _everything!_ So don't you _dare_ talk shit about what you're still too _terrified_ to do. _My_ Bat is a thousand times better than you'll _ever_ be!”

“Maybe,” Bruce said shakily, his head hurting from the blow to his ego, his mind reeling with the implications, and unable to stop himself from lashing out. “But he _still_ doesn't believe in you.”

The Joker's battered face crumpled under the simple cutting words. He lowered his eyes to the mask in his hands, and with a horrible, almost guilty feeling, Bruce realized that the man was about to cry.

“Yes, I _do_ ,” said an alarmingly angry, _present_ voice. 

To say that Bruce didn't see the blow coming would be an understatement. A gloved fist, identical to his own, came flying out of seemingly nowhere, smashing into his jaw with the full force of righteous indignation. His vision swam, almost blacking out as he stumbled backwards, before he could focus his eyes on Batman, who was glaring at him in seething anger before turning away to go to the Joker.

Zatanna appeared a second later, closing the portal behind her and answering the question of how Batman had arrived so quickly in the first place. She glanced at him casually, raised her hand, and chanted “ _Dnib mih_.” Invisible bonds suddenly snaked around Bruce's arms and legs, rendering him immobile, while Batman cringed in pain and clutched his chest, coughing badly. Taking pity on the battered couple facing off, Zatanna turned to them next and cast “ _Laeh meht_.”

“J,” Batman said gently as his coughing ceased, his palms open and empty as he approached cautiously, like the Joker was a spooked animal. “I _do_ believe in you. I promise.”

Shaking fingers gripped the mask they held tightly. “You said you _didn't know_ ,” the Joker accused in a trembling voice, his expression, now cleared of bruises and swelling, flitting between searing agony and a rage that would gladly burn the whole world down.

“I did. And I regret it from the bottom of my heart. I was just... so afraid.”

The Joker finally looked up, curious in spite of himself. “Of what?”

“That you preferred things the way they used to be. That you missed causing death and chaos enough to seek it out, even now. That _he_ would reawaken that side of you.”

The Joker glanced at Bruce, eyes flat. “I won't say it wasn't fun, giving the ol' sourpuss the runaround.”

“But he'll never give you what you want,” he said, mirroring his earlier words. “ _I_ will.”

“Oh, you _will_ , will you? And what if I said I really _was_ the one who bombed Arkham?”

Batman didn't bat an eye. “I know you did.”

_That_ got the Joker's attention. “And the special merchandise, enough for each gang, in easy-to-rob locations? What if that was  _my_ idea in the first place?”

“Then I'm sure you have something special planned. Your schemes were always well orchestrated, even when they didn't work.”

The mask slipped through the Joker's fingers, landing forgotten on the roof. “And... the show of force, every gang present and armed, ready to lay into each other at the drop of a pin? If  _that_ were to happen  _right now?_ ”

“You know what I can't abide, and I trust that you wouldn't plan something to that aim, no matter what it looks like.”

The Joker stumbled forward, cautiously wrapping his hands around Batman's arm like he wanted to make sure he was really there. “Really? You won't stop it? You'll let it finish?” Bruce renewed his efforts to break free with urgency, but Batman nodded and let himself be led to the edge of the roof.

“Are you _crazy?_ Don't--” Bruce's unseen bindings shifted to cover his mouth as well.

“Look, look!” the Joker said, almost meekly but with growing enthusiasm. “They're all here! Every follower they could muster, armed with every last one of those weapons you were so worried about. And there in the center, throwing caution to the wind in order to prove their strength, stand the big four!” Just as he described, the docks were crawling with shadowy figures clutching gleaming black assault rifles and machine guns. Meeting in the middle, holding a heated discussion, stood Oswald Cobblepot, Harvey Dent, Warren White, and whichever Falcone relative had managed to take the mantle this time. Their voices couldn't be heard, but given that their forces were roughly equal, it was likely that they were going to have to agree to leave Gotham split into territories.

“Well, that won't do,” the Joker said with a frown. Reaching into his inner vest pocket, he pulled out a tiny, gold plated derringer that he'd apparently been carrying around the whole night, yet never used. “Are you ready for your surprise, my liege?” Bruce screamed quietly in frustration, but Batman looked steadily into the Joker's eyes and nodded. With a delighted squeal, he turned the gun on the crowd below and took careful aim. “I call this _The Pin Drop!_ ”

The crack of gunfire made a number of figures in the crowd below flinch, and the bullet zinged and ricocheted loudly off of several shipping containers before lodging uselessly in a wooden post. Someone else fired in response, which set off shooters on the other side, and panic set in almost immediately. The crack of gunfire spread like cooking popcorn, sparse at first, then more numerous until the noise was almost a solid roar, nearly drowning out the sound of people shouting out orders and insults. The four bosses dived for cover behind their armies, negotiations officially having broken down.

Bruce turned his head, unable to witness the tragedy he had been unable to stop. He couldn't plug his ears, though, and he couldn't help but notice that certain sounds were missing. There were no screams of pain, no sounds of bullets tearing through flesh and scenery.

The Joker bounced on his socked feet. “What do you think?”

“Are they blanks?” Batman asked in puzzlement.

“Oh-ho-ho, they're much worse than that! Watch!” Turning back, both Batmans observed a fine green mist rising like a haze over the docks, growing thicker and thicker the longer the gunfire went on. Several men down below could be observed examining their guns in frustration as they jammed up, and as the gunfire started to decrease in volume, cries of horrified confusion rose up in its place.

The guns were melting.

The Joker's laughter welled forth as he darted this way and that along the roof's ledge, pointing out particularly funny reactions down below. Belts of ammo began to fall apart, the bullets releasing even more green smoke as they dissolved, which melted even more guns as the haze rolled over the battlefield. Shipping containers began bubbling around the edges, light posts wobbled and toppled over, and a few unfortunate boats gained some very large holes across their decks. The crimelords' getaway cars turned to sizzling mush before their eyes.

“I call it _Dragon's Acid_. I've been developing it for months! It's inert until exposed to oxygen. Then, once it reaches sufficient concentration, it _destroys_ anything metal that it touches! All while being completely harmless to organic material! Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“It does tend to render living creatures unconscious for a short amount of time.” As soon as he said it, thugs began to stumble and fall to the ground, coughing on the inescapable green smoke. All except the Penguin's crew, Bruce noticed, who began to pull out plastic breathing masks as they fled the scene. The Penguin himself followed, a jaunty skip in his step, and on the other side of the docks, Two-Face retreated alone and defeated, the only one immune to the the gas's effects.

“The Penguin was in on it?”

“Of course. You were _so_ concerned when the gun shipments were smuggled in, I decided to take care of the problem for you! I had already perfected my formula, I just needed a quick way to produce a lot of it, as well as the bullets to put it in. Naturally, Cobblepot was keen on the idea of taking over Gotham's crime world without even breaking a sweat. Don't worry, I'm sure you can keep him in line,” he purred. “And here comes the icing on the cake!”

In the distance, the sound of sirens and the flash of red and blue lights were approaching fast. A  _lot_ of them. The full crews of three different crime bosses, and even two of the bosses themselves, lay sleeping peacefully up and down the wooden piers, waiting to be arrested and carted away while they were unable to resist. The wind was picking up, carrying the Dragon's Acid along the river and dispersing it until it was too thin to cause any more damage. The Joker spread his arms wide like a ringmaster showing off his domain, humming a few bars of the birthday song as the last act came to a close.

“Well? What do you think? All guns destroyed, most criminals arrested, and not a single life lost! Probably. I mean, it's possible not _everyone_ used up their original ammo when they raided the Penguin's stores. Eh, details, details.” He rambled faster and faster as Batman continued to stare in speechless silence. “Did I meet your standards? I still _had_ to make it a spectacle, you know me! What's life without a little fun and games? And I know, it's not _actually_ your birthday, but this was the sort of present you have to give when the present is _ready_ , not when it's time. Well, do you like it? Say something already! What do you think?!”

“I... think...” Batman began as he finally found his voice. “That you've been a _very_ good dragon. An amazing dragon. I don't think _I_ could have tied up this situation as perfectly as you have.”

Bruce didn't think he could have, either. He stared out at the scene, then at the Joker, with something like shock.

The Joker beamed, rushing over and almost lunging into Batman's arms, wrapping his limbs around him and nuzzling his head onto his shoulder like a gangly panda. “That's what a dragon is _for_. Completely overwhelming your enemies—when he feels like it.”

Batman chuckled. “When he feels like it. After all, you're not a  _tame_ dragon.” He encircled the Joker's torso and squeezed him like he was afraid he might disappear. One hand stroked the green hair at the back of his head, making his eyes drift closed. “No. You're the battle I thought was unwinnable. You're a miracle.”

The Joker made a noise that could only be described as a croon, pulling back to look his Batman in the eyes. Bruce blinked; there was that expression again, the one he saw at the batcave that flitted by so quickly he couldn't recognize it. He could see it plain as day, now, transforming the Joker's face into something almost completely different.

_Adoration_. 

Too overwhelmed to fight anymore, he barely noticed when Zatanna came over and undid her enchanted bindings. They watched the bizarre couple make eyes at each other for a quiet moment, but he could tell she was waiting for him to say something. Some kind of acknowledgment or blame for the ordeal she had dragged him through.

He swallowed and finally turned to her, exhaustion dragging at his shoulders. “ _I_ was the bad example. Wasn't I.”

She gave him an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

“You're not _my_ Zatanna, are you.”

She shook her head. “How long did you suspect?”

“I knew _something_ was up since the reversed High Priestess card.”

She smiled regretfully. “Hidden agendas. I was afraid you might look that up the moment you left my sight.”

He sighed. “Was any of it real? The tarot reading?”

“Of course it was. I knew how it would go, mostly, because I already had _their_ example of how your future could be. I must admit, though, the Humpty Dumpty card caught me by surprise. It seems fate was truly trying to tell you something.”

“Why go through all this trouble at all? Why seek out some random Batman from another dimension to drag here to your world?”

Her expression darkened as she rubbed her arms, fighting off a sudden chill. “I had a vision of a future that I  _could not_ let come to pass. If you think Harvey Dent's fury at your betrayal of trust is dangerous, then believe me when I say: he has nothing, _nothing_ , on the Joker. Whatever tragedies he may have orchestrated in the past, or in your timeline, they don't hold a  _candle_ to the terror he would reign down if you gave him your heart only to steal it away again.” She cocked her head in thought. “I won't say that one of you did the right thing or the wrong thing by taking him in or not. Personally, I think if you can't bring yourself to kill him, and  _he_ can't be contained by four walls, then this is an effective way to put a stop to his brand of destruction. He can even do some good, as you just saw. But the thing is: if you  _do_ follow this path, you  _must_ follow it completely, to the very end. There's no going back, and no room for doubt. And that's why I had to bring you here.”

“Because he... _we..._ couldn't trust.”

“The only way to lay his doubts to rest was for him to see the Joker come face to face with the _ultimate temptation_ , and win. Not just murder. Not just mayhem.” She gave him a little smile. “You.”

He held her gaze for a long moment, then finally nodded. “What's left for me now?”

“You go home. You can continue things the way they are in your world, or if you so desire, you can change it. You may have missed the opportunity those two took, but more will present themselves. You know what's possible now, if you and the Joker both put in the effort. But _you_ have to give him the desire to do so. You have to take the first step.”

He said nothing, his mind a world away as Zatanna stepped back and opened the portal that would carry the rest of him there. He couldn't resist taking one last look before he turned away from this reality forever, though he had a feeling he already knew what he would see.

The cloudy sky was beginning to lighten with a warm pink glow, the first hint of the coming dawn trying to offset the harsh lights of the police vehicles down below. Batman had recovered the dragon mask and was sliding it gently on top of the Joker's head, whispering something softly that made him grin. It reminded Bruce, rather forcefully, of the Two of Cups card: the two figures, united and opposite, and the token that represented their future together. The Joker reached up and adjusted its fit slightly, but didn't pull it down yet. Instead, the two of them moved closer, removing even that last bit of space that separated their lips.

Bruce couldn't exactly say he was surprised, even as his heart leaped into his throat and he made a strangled noise. The Joker made flirtatious and occasionally crude comments all the time, usually to annoy him, but his more bold-faced declarations of love always felt disturbingly... honest. And maybe, in the quiet of the darkest nights when the weight of the world felt like too much, Bruce turned those declarations over and over and over again in his mind, feeling an ache in his chest where there shouldn't have been one.

But now, as he stumbled backwards on numb feet into a swirling portal, the image burned itself into his retinas; yin and yang, entwined together with the sort of  _passion_ that could upheave mountains and change the world—or make a stone heart crack with the force of revelation.

Because he  _wanted_ what they had.

Bruce felt like he was falling.

 

 

 


	5. Epilogue

“Okay, what is your _deal?_ ” the Joker spat out as he met with the caped crusader on a gargoyle-encrusted rooftop overlooking most of Gotham. The city lights spread out all around them like shimmering stars under a murky night sky. “ _First_ you won't even look me in the eye while we fight anymore. _Then_ you start making cryptic comments about how you 'don't think you can keep doing this.' And _now_ you don't even _show up_ when I take over a radio station and croon into the microphone all night?”

“You killed the DJ and threatened to do the same to the other employees if they didn't cooperate,” Bruce pointed out, staring down at the city below and looking for all the world like he was just another gargoyle perched on the roof's ledge.

“Look on the bright side, Batsy! I proved that _radio_ isn't dead; the station had the greatest spike in ratings since its conception!” He laughed uproariously, then frowned when Batman didn't even move and still wouldn't look at him. “If you're sick, you _still_ could have called in and threatened me over the phone, at least. I plugged the number shamelessly, as I recall.” He shuffled closer cautiously. “ _Are_ you sick? Are you dying? Are you _retiring?_ No, that would be the same as dying, wouldn't it?” He laughed, but it was strained.

Bruce made him wait an agonizingly long moment before he responded, and when he did, it was the last thing the clown expected. “Come and sit with me.”

He heard the quiet noise of surprise the Joker made, a sharp inhale of breath. “Oh god, you really are dying, aren't you. Well, _good_ , you deserve it.”

“I'm not dying.”

A relieved sigh. “Then what's _wrong_ with you?” Ever so carefully, he shifted closer to the edge of the roof, still out of reach but now able to see the profile of Batman's face. “You're being _weird_.”

“Right now, I'm just trying to get a serious conversation out of you.”

“I _hate_ being serious.”

“I know.” A pause. “Sorry.”

The astounded look the Joker gave him was incredibly satisfying. “It's finally happened,” he said weakly. “You've gone crazy.”

“I dress like a bat and drop down on people in dark alleys.” He finally turned to meet the Joker's gaze, giving him just the hint of a smile. “I've come to realize I've always been a little crazy.”

“HA!” the Joker barked, so loudly it even startled himself. He pointed a finger at him in accusation, his face stretched in a victorious grin. “You _finally_ admit it! I _knew_ it! I knew you were one of us, I _knew it!_ ” He bounced to his feet and pranced around the roof, twirling around various gargoyles like they were dance partners. Bruce waited patiently for him to get his victory lap over with and rejoin him on the ledge. When he did, his pale face was flushed with life and he sat down much closer this time. “So tell me,” he asked with good humor, pulling out an imaginary pad and pencil. “How does this realization make you _feel?_ ”

“Fragile,” he replied after a moment. The Joker waved him on, still not dropping the therapist joke as he listened with an eager ear. “Regretful.” Green eyebrows rose in question. “Like I've discovered I broke a bone long ago and it healed badly, because I wouldn't admit anything was wrong and seek help. It's too late to fix it now, and I wouldn't want to even if I could. It's become who I am.” He straightened up. “Acceptance.”

“It sounds like you've come a long way,” the Joker said slowly, flipping absently through his imaginary notebook. “A long way. You're doing very well.”

“Remember that time I offered to rehabilitate you?”

The Joker huffed a laugh, dropping the act. “ _Let me help you_ ,” he quoted mockingly. “So high and mighty, doling out kind assistance from your lofty position of perfection!”

“I can see now why that was the wrong thing to offer.”

The Joker's eyes narrowed immediately. “And what are you offering _now?_ ”

“What exactly is it you want from me?”

It was obvious he was struggling with whether to give a real answer or not. “ _Well_ , I certainly wouldn't mind being  _pounded_ into that wall over there until you're a shaking mess and I'm seeing stars--”

“Joker.”

“No? We can switch it around if that's what you prefer, I'm game. Or... did you want something more slow and tender?” He pulled out a knife and caressed it teasingly down his own chest.

“ _Joker_.” He sighed. “I meant, why do you do the things you always do?”

“Oh.” He glanced away as he pocketed the knife again, but when he looked back, his eyes were piercing. “I want to make you stronger, Batman. And I want to see you fall. I want to _destroy_ you, and I want you to _end_ me. I want you to _look at me_ and never look away again! I want you to laugh because I finally made you see that the world is _funny_. I want you to always be there, perfect and just out of reach, but I want to drag you down and _keep_ you, too! I want you to _break_ me, because I _hate you_ so much it feels _good_ , and I want you to _save_ me, because I _love you_ so much it feels _terrible!_ I want you to... to...!”

The Joker shut up abruptly, his expression wild. He stared down at the ground far, far below, rocking forward dangerously as he tried to calm down. Bruce couldn't stop himself; he placed a hand over the Joker's where it clutched the ledge. “Careful,” he said by way of explanation. “It's a long fall.”

“I've already fallen,” the Joker murmured, not even seeming to notice his hand or the words that slipped out.

“Do you feel like you healed wrong, too? Or... that you're still broken in pieces?”

He darted a glance at the Bat, looked down at the ground again, and finally settled on staring at the hand that rested upon his own. “What point is there in healing? You can't make things the way they were before.”

“No.” He shifted slightly as he pulled something out for the Joker to see. “But the scars of the past can actually be beautiful, if you let them.” It was a porcelain egg, painted beautifully with green and purple swirls and scales. Most notably, though, it had been broken and repaired, its cracks highlighted vibrantly with shimmering gold.

“What is that?” the Joker asked, itching to hold it. Bruce lifted his hand and turned it over, placing the egg in his palm.

“Kintsugi. It's an art form that celebrates a broken past instead of discarding it.”

“It looks like a dragon's egg.”

Bruce made a noncommittal noise, watching the Joker examine the gift with gleaming eyes.

“What's it for? Why are you giving this to me?”

“You know, you never asked me what _I_ want.”

The Joker gave him a dry look that couldn't quite cover how pleased he was feeling. “And what  _do_ you want from me, my darling Bat?”

“I want you to be my partner.”

This time he simply couldn't avoid chuckling at the flabbergasted look that rocked through the Joker. “In  _what, crime?!_ ” he blurted out, and suddenly Bruce realized why the  _other_ Joker had found it so hilarious when he had said the exact same thing. Bruce laughed helplessly, the sound rolling rich and warm across the rooftop before it was absorbed by the night sky.

“I haven't gone _that_ crazy,” he clarified once he managed to stop. “I'm not going to stop crime fighting. But I'm not going to keep dragging you to Arkham under the foolish notion that, maybe _this time_ , something different will come as a result. _That's_ the definition of crazy, right there.”

“So what exactly are you planning on doing with me?”

“I'm going to let you keep making me stronger, just like you always do. Only this time, you can do it from a little closer to home,” he added, enjoying the way that made his eyes widen.

“You don't mean, like... _batcave_ home, do you?”

“If you wish.”

“Aren't you afraid I'll trash it?”

“A little. But I can replace things if you can't resist breaking them.”

He blinked. “What if I betray you to your enemies?”

“Would you really do that when you could have me all to yourself?”

The Joker made a distressed noise as he realized that Batman had him there. “I'm not gonna...  _fight crime_ with you, you know. I'll probably just keep committing it.”

“All I ask is that you _stop killing_. If you would only do that, then that's all the crime fighting I could ever ask of you. The rest is entirely up to whatever strikes your fancy.”

The Joker stared at him with unblinking eyes for an uncomfortably long time. Bruce struggled not to show how tense he was getting as he waited for some kind of response.

“You'll never get me into a bodysuit,” he finally said at last, still looking dazed.

Bruce smiled. “Of course not.”

Another long pause. His expression gradually shifted into something so vulnerable it made Bruce's heart twinge. “Is this real?” he asked in a trembling voice.

“I'm not trying to trick you.”

“Not _that_. I don't want to wake up in Arkham to find this was all a dream from some new drug they slipped me.”

Bruce took pity on him. “Do you need some time to think about it?”

“I just need to... to get my bearings!” he cried as he stood up, beginning to pace. “It's not like I need time to _consider my answer!_ ” Bruce stood up as well, unused to the nervous anticipation that was stirring in his stomach.

“Which is...”

The Joker stood with his back to him, shoulders hunched and one hand tightly gripping the other elbow. “I'm not so crazy as to turn down something I want _that badly_ , just because it could never work.”

Bruce stepped forward and cautiously, _so cautiously_ , wrapped his arms around the Joker's torso and pulled him against his chest. The man was as tense as a coiled spring, shaking under the pressure. “It may be the most difficult thing we've ever tried,” he whispered into his ear. “But trust me when I say: it  _is_ possible.”

He shuddered. “What if I can't stop killing?”

“Just _try._ Please. I don't want to be alone anymore.”

“Don't you have friends for that?”

“Don't you?”

Ever so slightly, the Joker relaxed. He lifted up the porcelain egg and admired the way the golden cracks gleamed in the dim light. “Did you put this back together yourself?”

He nodded, his chin brushing his shoulder. “Why?”

“Just thinking something silly. Pay it no mind.” He closed his hand gently around it and held it protectively against his chest. “You'll be glad for the practice, because you've got your work cut out for you. I have the most _incredible_ urge to stab you right now for no goddamn reason.”

Bruce sighed. “One day at a time. We'll figure this out _somehow_.”

The Joker cackled, but when Batman finally let him go, he merely turned around and offered his hand.

 

 

The End

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in an incredible coincidence: Happy Easter Egg Day, everyone.
> 
> You can find the art from the previous chapter, plus a Lego version, [here on tumblr!](http://a-stands-for.tumblr.com/post/159643858029)
> 
> Also, Forgottenequality made me a lovely [fanart comic!](http://a-stands-for.tumblr.com/post/159649936224)


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